


Every Part of You

by vienn_peridot



Series: Citrus Basket [10]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Tactile Sexual Interfacing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Voice Kink, altmode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 23:38:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4412390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wing has a very specific request to make regarding Rung's altmode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Part of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SparkBeat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkBeat/gifts).



> Trust me to start shipping a crackship that produces more fluff and cuteness than I can reasonably handle >.-Chirolingual Communication-   
> ::Hardline Chatter::

# Every Part of You

The unlikely pair were sitting in one of the smaller observation decks of the Lost Light, enjoying a companionable silence as they worked in harmony. After the initial flurry of confusion the rest of the crew had quickly become familiar with this strange sight and left the two mechs to their comfortable routine. By the end of the first ship they had assembled together, Rung and Wing had developed a silent method of communication that made anyone watching assume they were speaking over their comms when in reality no words were needed.

While an outsider would think it was business as usual, tonight Rung could tell that Wing had something on his processor.

It was there in the subtle cues of jet’s body language and EMF. It had taken the psychiatrist a while to adjust to the odd mannerisms of New Crystal City, but he’d done so and now he could read Wing almost as well as any of the other two-hundred-odd mechs on board. Rung carefully sanded leftover sprue of a section of hull, mentally making a small wager with himself about how long it would take Wing to bring up whatever was bugging him.

It _was_ a fair bet, because Rung knew he still wasn’t one-hundred percent accurate in his ability to read the jet. The way Wing kept his flightpanels hidden away behind his back removed a lot of the physical cues he was used to looking for in flightframes. The way they twitched and fluttered in response to strong emotions helped, but Rung could just as easily feel those changes in Wing’s EM Field. He also hadn’t expected quite so many grounder-based mannerisms from Wing. It threw him off a little. Eventually he’d figured out that Wing deliberately used them to set groundframes at ease by giving familiar responses when he interacted with them.

Rung found it odd, but it was just another one of the quirks that made Wing so fascinating.

When it came time to pack away their gear Wing casually reached for Rung’s hand, carefully removing some plastic shavings that had gotten caught in the psychiatrist’s joints. Instead of letting go when he was done, the knight clasped their hands together palm-to-palm, fingers interlaced in a familiar way. Behind the safety of his lenses Rung cycled his optics in confusion; too experienced to let anything show in his Field. The jet smiled at him, apparently amused at how his large swordsmech’s hand almost completely engulfed Rung’s slim-fingered civilian one.

Then Wing’s hand began to move.

Fitting his larger digits around Rungs with great care, the jet pressed a message into thin orange plating.

- _Do you speak hand?_ -

The phrasing was a little odd, no doubt due to some local variations Wing had picked up in the new Crystal City and the differences in their frame sizes. To Rung it was still perfectly coherent.

- _I do_.- Rung replied, having to stretch a little to reach the appropriate sensor points on the larger hand wrapped around his own.

Wing beamed, his Field sparkling with delight before the knight drew a deep invent and seemed to brace himself.

- _May I ask you something?_ \- The jet hurried to continue, almost fumbling some of the finer points in his rush to speak his piece. – _It’s weird but I’ve wanted to ask ever since I saw **you**_ -

Rung frowned, browplates clicking against the frames of his glasses.

Wing had added modifiers to ‘you’ that indicated his –Rung’s- altmode.

There was an uncertainty to Wing’s Field that Rung hadn’t sensed there before. It was an extremely unusual emotion for the confident warrior. His uncommon yellow optics were watching Rung’s every twitch, waiting for a response.

- _Please ask. The Functionalists made my altmode a delicate subject for me so please know I may not be able to answer._ -

That was as much as Rung was willing to allow.

Wing cycled his optics, processing what had just been said before taking the plunge.

And what a plunge it was.

- _I understand.-_ Wing paused, letting his Field open up a little more as he continued _-I would very much like to worship your frame, Rung. **All** of it. While you are in altmode. Hands and glossa and Field, I wish to bring you pleasure until it becomes the totality of your existence and this ship vibrates with the force of your overloads, until this entire sector of space resonates to the sound of your moans_.-

Rung was so startled by the proposition and the open invitation in the jet’s Field that he gaped open-mouthed, forgetting the hand in his and speaking aloud.

“I… Oh my. _Wing!_ ”

In the entirety of Rung’s long life and experience not a single being had _ever_ offered this before.

Naturally, during their testing the Functionalists hadn’t neglected to find out if he was physically _capable_ of overloading while in altmode. After an extremely clinical (and mercifully brief) exam involving an absolutely ridiculous number of sensors and some remote-activated electro-stimulators they had established that he was indeed able to do so, then moved on to other things. Rung had never been more thankful than he was at that moment that the Functionalists had never bothered to continue investigating that particular activity.

Wing was still waiting patiently for an answer, outwardly calm although worry started to curl through his Field as Rung’s silence stretched on. It eased when Rung smiled at the jet, replying with a teasing roll of slender orange fingers over black plating.

- _I’d **love** to see you try_ -

Slim white flightpanels flicked and shuddered, Wing unconsciously wetting his lips in response to the extremely naughty modifiers Rung had added to his silent words. Rung couldn’t help but return the white jet’s blinding smile despite the unease he always felt discussing his altmode.

- _My place, one hour?_ \- Wing offered.

- _Perfect_ -

Not only would it give them both time to rinse little pieces of plastic and glue flakes from their frames, if this went spectacularly wrong then Rung wouldn’t have the memories associated with his own quarters.

This level of consideration was something Rung was used to giving his patients, not receiving from another mech. Gratitude and a little guilty pleasure curled through his Field as he met Wing’s optics. They were no longer communicating through their joined hands, Wing simply sliding his powerful fingers gently over Rung’s plating as he leaned forwards.

“Oi, nerdlords!” Whirl’s voice came from the door, shattering the moment.

Two helms jerked around as if pulled by strings, both mechs staring at the gatecrasher with embarrassment heating their faceplates.

“We’re about to have Aerials VS Speedsters Round Two down this corridor.” Whirl continued, clicking his claws at them. “If you’re not cheering me on you’d better clear out.”

“Thank you for the warning, Whirl.” Rung said, reluctantly releasing Wing’s hand to finish gathering up his supplies.

“What, I’m not invited this time?” Wing complained good-naturedly, not sounding upset at all as he helped Rung tidy up.

“Nope, you missed the sign-up sheet.” Whirl waved his claws dismissively.  “Better luck next time, knives.”

The helo vanished from the door and Rung put the last tools away, smiling to himself at Whirl’s unexpected show of consideration. It was nice to have mecha remember him and consider him their friend. That Whirl would go out of his way like this said more about the mech than he’d probably like to hear about himself, claiming it would ruin his image.

“We’d better run. Whirl didn’t actually give us a timeframe.” Wing said, leaping to his pedes with easy grace and extending a hand.

Rung took the offered hand gratefully, letting the younger mech pull him smoothly to his pedes. When he tried to thank Wing for the assistance Rung was silenced by a kiss that had his cooling systems flashing auto-engage warnings on his HUD. Noise from the corridor interrupted them and they parted with a sigh.

“See you soon!” The jet chirped. His Field caressed Rung’s with anticipation before he bounced from the room, flightpanels twitching happily away on either side of the Greatsword bisecting his back.

Rung watched him go, torn between anticipation and fear.

## ~V~V~V~V~

It took Rung a little longer than normal to clean himself up. Whenever he let himself think of why he was being so thorough with his shower his hands would shake, making it difficult to hold the scrubbing brush or wield it effectively. Logically he _knew_ that his past experiences made fear a perfectly normal reaction but be had nothing to worry about now. Wing wouldn’t hurt him. He still grew increasingly frustrated with himself as his emotions refused to listen to reason.

_If emotions behaved reasonably did then I wouldn’t have_ nearly _as many patients as I do_.

He knew Wing wouldn’t mind him being late but Rung wrestled with another surge of nervousness as he arrived at the knight’s habsuit. Rung folded his transport away with more care than usual and reattached it to his back. Squaring his shoulders, he cycled his vents and pressed the door chime. The jet answered so quickly Rung suspected he’d been waiting near the door. He was invited in will all possibly courtesy, a shy brush of the jet’s EM Field and a brilliant smile that brought an answering one to Rung’s faceplates as he entered.

Wing wasn’t wearing his weapons so Rung got to admire his unencumbered grace as Wing practically danced along beside him. He could see the short blades and Greatsword resting neatly in their wall stands, the only real decoration besides a holographic display displaying random pictures and an elegant potted crystal. There was music of alien origin playing softly, a melody Rung found soothing despite the unknown origin. Cybertron hadn’t produced new music for millions of years and this little reminder of peace and happier times helped ease the nervous tension thrumming through his frame.

“This music is from Earth,” Wing said, probably noticing how Rung couldn’t stop his antennae twitching in time with the music. “I thought you might like it.”

The song was something new and different, unlikely to have bad associations and so alien it would be easy to avoid if this went wrong. Of course, if this went _right_ then Rung knew this piece would probably become one of his favourites simply because of what he’d remember when he heard it.

“It is lovely, thank you Wing.” Rung said, stretching up and trying to pull Wing into kissing range.

The jet knelt smoothly, moving into Rung’s hand so it curled around the back of his neck, allowing him to gently pull the larger mech’s helm forward. Rung pressed their lips together, intending it to be quick. Somehow that idea got lost as Wing sighed through his vents and his Field relaxed to surround them both with a warm, tingling curtain. The knight must have applied some exotic scented oil to his major energon lines after his shower because a delicious smell rose to fill Rung’s olfactory sensors and he hummed appreciatively, inhaling deeply through his vents to get more of it.

Letting his own Field reach out, Rung got lost in the feeling of lips and EM Fields sliding over and around each other, frame slowly warming as pure sensuality filled him and pushed the anxiety aside. His vents hitched when Wing gently nibbled his lower lip, doing something deliciously complicated with his Field at the same time. Rung retaliated by sliding his glossa along Wing’s upper lip and that was somehow the signal for the psychiatrist to push Wing back so he was sitting on his heels and climb up into his lap, wrapping his thin arms around Wing’s neck for support and kissing him all the while.

Strong hands came up to support Rung, one on his lower back and the other sliding deliciously up the side of his frame and around to rest at the base of his helm, making sure the smaller mech couldn’t abandon the jet’s mouth for his favourite target.

_Cunning Knight._

With his plan anticipated and countered, Rung changed his approach. He used his EMF to distract Wing, sliding searching around the back of the white helm, homing in on the sensitive audial flares from behind. Slim fingers outlined the top of one sweeping white panel and the bottom of the other, making the jet shudder and moan beneath him. Rung smiled into their kiss, lipping playfully at Wing’s mouth, daring the jet to retaliate.

The counterattack came swiftly, powerful warrior fingers pressing firmly into specific transformation seams low on his torso, the back of Rung’s neck now held in an inescapable grip. All Rung could do was moan, limp and helpless in the grip of Wing’s powerful hand and what felt like liquid fire racing out from the seams of his lower back to consume his entire frame. Wing devoured the sound as it emerged, humming contentedly until Rung regained some control over his frame and pulled back from that hungry mouth, gasping to supplement his cooling systems.

“That… was cheating, Wing.” Rung panted, vocaliser crackling.

Wing smirked, golden optics flashing dangerously as he ghosted over those same seams again with the lightest possible touch. Even that faint pressure sent electric surges through Rung’s systems, stealing the strength from his legstruts so he had no choice but to lower himself from kneeling to straddling Wing’s thighs before he fell. He rubbed his thumbs gently along the bottom of the jet’s audial flares, letting his forehelm rest on Wing’s chestplates as he tried to regain at least a little of his composure.

“Cheating.” The psychiatrist repeated.

A laugh rolled smoothly though the jet’s chassis even though his fans were working as hard as Rungs were. He carefully removed the compact bungle of Rung’s transport from his back and set it aside, wrapping his arms around Rung’s lightly-armoured frame. Wing kissed the light grey helm crest and rested his chin atop Rung’s helm.

“You were trying to be sneaky,” The knight said fondly, nuzzling an orange cranial flare. “I decided to sneak right back.”

Rung grumbled low in his vocaliser and wiggled, adjusting himself so he was sitting more comfortably on the jet’s lap.

“If you’ve changed your mind, just tell me. I have no objection to pleasuring you in other ways.” Wing said softly, his voice low and rich. “Would you like to do something else?”

The tone of Wing’s voice and the promise in his Field sent tingles through Rung’s lines, a fresh surge of heat coiling low in his abdomen. Reluctantly, he leaned back from his comfortable position snuggled against red-and-white chestplates so he could look the jet in the optics.

“I haven’t changed my mind, Wing.” Rung started out firm but more uncertainty crept into his voice as he continued. “I am still willing. I just find myself to be… a little apprehensive.”

He pushed the truth of his tangled emotions into his EMF for the larger mech to examine. Wing contemplated this with a thoughtful expression on his faceplates as the music changed. When that song also finished Rung pressed close again, tracing little nibbling kisses up a bundle of neural cabling he knew to be particularly sensitive.

“Shall we move this to the berth and let things progress as they will?” Wing offered, voice hoarse

Rung hummed assent into the tender cables below Wing’s jaw and helpfully secured his hold, quite happy to allow himself to be carried to berth if that meant he didn’t have to move.

That delicious scented oil had been applied to the main energon lines where the heat of Wing’s vital fluids would ensure a nice, continuous release of the aromatic compounds. Rung buried his nasal ridge in Wing’s neck cables, seeking more of that scent and inhaling deeply, humming with pleasure when he found it. Wing laughed low in his vocaliser and Rung silenced him by nipping sharply at the tough sheathing of some secondary nerve wires, soothing the sting with his glossa in a way that made Wing’s knees tremble and he lowered them to the berth with something less than his usual grace.

In a clatter of armour Rung unwound his legs from the jet’s waist and slid back so he had space to kneel straddling the white thighs. Shaky hands rose to stroke Rung’s sides and he continued to nip and lick at Wing’s neck, remembering to avoid the energon lines with their scented oil and targeting places he knew the larger mech liked. Wing’s low moans and stuttering vents were their own reward, so too was the slightly dazed, open-mouthed expression on the jet’s faceplates when Rung reluctantly pulled away from his teasing to speak.

It began to finally sink in that he was _actually going to do this_. He was going to transform and let Wing overload him until he couldn’t string two coherent thoughts together. While Rung was in altmode.

_Primus_.

“I have one favour to ask of you before we begin.” The smaller mech forced his words out around a surge of nervousness.

 “What is it?” Strong hands supported him, wordlessly soothing.

“While we do this I would like to be connected to you via hardline,” Rung couldn’t meet those blazing optics. Between the tension and arousal fighting for command of his frame his vocabulary seemed to be shrinking, words vanishing as he reached for them. “That way… I will be less likely to get caught in a bad memory replay, and if it does happen it will be much easier for you to pull me out of it.”

Wing hummed, thumbs tracing the bottom of Rung’s thoracic armour comfortingly.

“I don’t have a problem with doing that.” His voice dropped a full octave and he bowed his head to purr directly into Rung’s audial. “It will also let me see _precisely_ how close you are to overload so I can give you as many or as few as you desire.”

That aspect of the situation was something that hadn’t occurred to Rung and it completely robbed him of the ability to speak. His mouth went dry and his vocaliser clicked on then off again as a shiver worked its way up his spinal struts. To stall for time he removed his glasses, stowing them safely in subspace. After that unexpected tactile overload he was quite ready to take his time with the next overload.

Or the next _several_ overloads, depending on how Wing was feeling.

“Both options sound perfectly delightful. I shall leave the total number to your fine judgement.” Rung said shakily, unable to decide which option he liked better. He allowed the armour protecting his hardline array to open and unspooled a cable with hands that were much steadier than his voice, looking up at Wing. “May I do the honours?”

There was an answering click as a section of red-painted metal suddenly developed a small rectangular flaw, the cover of Wing’s hardline array retreating back into the surrounding pectoral armour. A gentle lick over the mound of Rung’s audial housing was followed by that same rich, suggestive voice as Wing gave verbal permission.

“You most certainly may, my dear Rung.”

Rung moaned, his name said in _that_ tone momentarily turning his struts to jelly. He could feel another amused rumble coming from the frame beneath him, encouraging him to somehow regain control of his limbs just enough to trace the bared row of Wing’s hardline ports with a gentle touch.

The laughter became into a choked cry of pleasure when he stretched up and outlined them with little flicks of his glossa. He smirked up at the jet who was panting through his mouth in an attempt to help his cooling system, blazing optics watching him intently as Rung returned his attention to the hardline array, wrapped his lips around the very end of a connector jack and _hummed_.

Wing bucked beneath him, pelvic armour blazing with heat and helm falling back as the frequency of Rung’s hum tormented the delicate electro-neural circuitry of the chosen jack. Rung brought the hand holding his own cable came up and using his peripheral vision he positioned it over an appropriate port. Easing his helm back, he took Wing’s cable with him, easily able to feel the desperation in the jet’s Field, a storm centred on the port that was so close to being filled.

It was Rung’s turn to laugh now, the change in tone and frequency making Wing whine and clamp his hands almost too tightly on orange plating. Rung took pity on the jet, whipping the jack from his lipplates and inserting it into his own port at the same instant as he slid his own connecter gently into the waiting socket on Wing’s upper chest.

Their cables sank home simultaneously, charge ripping across the physical connection to make Rung arch against his partner while Wing’s flightpanels twitched out to half-extension. EM Fields clashed and tangled, a shuddering cry emerging from the jet’s open mouth as the accidental transfer reached its peak.

Once the initial rush faded they reached some sort of equilibrium. Rung and found his vocaliser had shut down while he was distracted, brought it back online and tried to apologise. His faceplates burned as Wing turned an almost predatory gaze on him. It made him feel very small, wondering if he’d just screwed everything up.

“I’m so sorry, Wing. That hasn’t happened in a _long_ time.” Rung said, guilt gnawing at his Spark. “Please forgive me.”

Wing smiled and shook his helm, flared cheekpieces catching the light. He pressed his forehelm to Rung’s, carefully stroking a drooping antenna with the callus-thickened metal of his forefinger. It dent delicious tingles through the orange mech’s neural net and made it very hard to concentrate.

“Some of the fault is mine,” Wing’s voice was as gentle as the caress along the twitching antenna. “I should know to take better care of you.”

By now Rung knew it was pointless to argue with the Knight over things like his perceived fragility. Instead of speaking he changed the subject by dropping his first-level firewalls, sending a polite invitation over the hardline for Wing to do the same. The response was prompt and Wing’s mental presence appeared in the hardline connection, humming with excitement and a specific curiosity that rekindled Rung’s anxiety.

He managed to keep the unease from his Field but some of it must have communicated itself to Wing over the hardline because the jet stopped stroking his antenna, sliding the hand around to where Rung’s open hardline array sat in his chest armour. The knight outlined it idly, sending pleasant shivers through Rung’s frame.

“Just a question, Rung.” The Knight’s voice was low again and Rung could feel honest confusion across the hardline. “But how are you going to transform if we’re already plugged in? You remember what I said to you before about changing your mind, right?”

A fond amusement filled Rung, neatly puncturing his growing nervousness and sweeping it aside. He didn’t bother trying to hide it either, wriggling back along Wing’s thighs until he could meet the gaze concerned yellow optics. Straightening up, Rung kissed the jet’s noseguard and pressed a finger to his lips to silence whatever Wing had been about to say.

“Allow me to demonstrate?” Rung’s voice was the closest he’d ever come to a purr of pure lust and he didn’t miss the effect it had on Wing.

It would have been obvious even without the hardline linking them. Wing’s optics burned and those elegant flightpanels slowly flared in a distinctive flightframe show of physical arousal. The jet’s throat cables worked and Rung suppressed the urge to taste them, waiting for Wing to get his processor working again and respond to his not-entirely-rhetorical question.

The instant Wing nodded Rung replaced his finger with his lips, kissing the knight until both of their systems flashed the first level of overheat warnings. When he pulled back Rung cycled his vents, ignoring his nerves while settling himself firmly on Wing’s lap. Then with grace he had never displayed before the psychiatrist folded down into his altmode, coming to rest perfectly balanced across white thighs and skirting panels without so much as twisting their hardline cables over each other.

Through the hardline he could feel Wing’s admiration at his little exhibition and there was honest lust lacing the EM Field merged with his. The strange input helped settle Rung as the last pieces of his frame slotted into place and the transformation sequence ended. The reaction was so different to anything the Functionalists had felt while studying him, keeping Rung from getting lost in his memories.

::Are you comfortable?:: Wing asked over the hardline, subglyphs indicating that he was asking about both physical and emotional wellbeing.

Rung took a moment to cycle his vents and take stock before answering, checking his gyros and discovering that when he was connected to the jet and surrounded by that attentive EMF he was more relaxed about being in his altmode than he had been in millions of years.

::I am _very_ comfortable, my dear Knight.:: He sent back, feeling flight engines rumble through their frames when Wing processed the naughty modifiers he’d used. ::I am ready to continue when you are.::

The vibrations from Wing’s turbines faded but didn’t disappear entirely. Admiration and desire filled his Field and poured through the hardline, the sheer intensity of it would have made Rung blush if he was capable of it.

Hands that were capable of doing incredible amounts of damage came to rest on his plating, touching him gently, almost reverently. They slid in opposite directions along his central seam, gliding smoothly between biolights and tracing their edges. Unexpected pleasure made Rung twitch and Wing froze immediately, hands lifting away from his frame. Not quite able to form the appropriate glyphs, Rung filled his Field with encouragement and sent a nonverbal plea for _::more; please don’t stop::_ over the hardline. Wing obliged, hands returning to draw little nonsense patterns and swirls with his fingers as he mapped every square centimetre of Rung’s altmode, broadcasting amusement at the reactions he got every time he found a particularly sensitive place.

It was unlike anything Rung had ever experienced.

Wing’s EM Field surrounded him with admiration, desire and a warm curiosity that was completely different from the clinical detachment of the Functionalists. The jet was focused on _Rung_ , concentrating on his reactions to the exclusion of all else, even the charge he could clearly feel building within the jet’s frame. He could feel the strength held back as Wing caressed orange plating gently, strength that could so easily damage him but would only ever be used in his defence. It drove his arousal higher, moaning wordlessly under the knight’s careful touches.

Overload came as a surprise. One moment Rung was basking in the sense of wonder being projected across the hardline –wonder _directed at him_ \- and then Wing was deliberately pressing into a series of particularly sensitive seams and Rung hung suspended in pure pleasure, unable to tell up from down until it passed. The first thing he became aware of was Wing trembling on the edge; echoes of Rung’s overload still passing over the hardline.

_Let’s fix that, shall we?_

Two mischievous pulses of tactile data cut the threads of Wing’s self-control. His fingers scraped deliciously over Rung’s frame as he overloaded, hunching forwards to press his forehelm into one of the psychiatrist’s biolights. The jet’s EMF whipped around them, almost visible from the force of the release surging through his frame.

::Sneaky.:: Was the first coherent glyph Wing managed. It was shaky but still understandable with modifiers of affection and teasing surrounding it.

::I have never claimed otherwise.:: Rung sent in tones of high amusement. ::Would you like me to change back now?::

::I still have plans for you, if you think you can handle it.:: The subglyphs carried more teasing than concern.

Rung didn’t hesitate for a moment.

::Bring it on.::

His gyros registered gentle movement as Wing carefully scooped him up and placed him on the berth, moving cautiously to avoid pulling or tangling their hardline cables. Before Rung could entirely adjust to the novel sensation of soft sheets against the plating of his altmode Wing crouched over him and _licked_ along a transformation seam he’d established to be particularly sensitive during his earlier explorations.

Without permission Rung’s vocaliser onlined with a wordless, static-corrupted cry and his biolights lit Wing’s delighted grin from below, making the knight look positively ghoulish. If it wasn’t for the Field against his and the steady hardline presence Rung would have lost to the memories that suddenly surged to the front of his mind at the sight.

“I meant what I said before, about this sector of space and your moans.” Wing murmured; his voice low and sultry against a delicate junction of transformation seams. “You sound so beautiful in pleasure, Rung.”

Before Rung could collect his thoughts enough to respond Wing pressed a kiss to that same point and began a three-pronged assault on Rung’s frame, banishing the Functionalists to the dim recesses of his memory archives where they belonged.

While the jet kissed or licked one place both hands were busy elsewhere, drowning Rung in bliss. Wing played the psychiatrist like an instrument, using the hardline as threatened to monitor his arousal and the state of his charge. Four times Rung was brought right up to the edge of overload and eased away again, whimpering helplessly and yearning towards that blissful peak he wasn’t being allowed to reach.

The fifth time overload approached Rung was well and truly beyond words. All he knew was desire, yearning and Wing’s touch. The jet’s EMF was thoroughly intertwined with his now, which was a mixed blessing because while Rung could communicate his desperation it gave Wing a better gauge of how close Rung was. He couldn’t even beg; his vocaliser spitting nothing but static and sounds he hadn’t thought himself capable of.

Then Wing displayed incredibly flexibility, stimulating three extremely sensitive nodes at once in three completely different places on his frame and Rung felt the strongest overload of his life lift him up and carry him far away from all coherent thought. _Somehow_ Wing extended it, bringing a shoulder down to brush the side of his turbine against the cover of Rung’s sparkchamber and revving it in time with the wild pulsing of his Spark.

Something like actual thought processes were just coming back to Rung’s pleasure-fogged processor when the jet lost his struggle against the hardline feedback and slid into overload. He sagged over Rung’s apparently useless altmode, moaning throatily into the berth and wriggling helplessly, EMF rippling in time with his release. The heavy pressure of his frame and the friction of white plating scraping over his form ensured that Rung’s first really coherent thought after overload was something positively filthy.

As soon as he judged Wing capable of thinking again he packaged the delightfully dirty idea up and sent it across the hardline.

::Are you sure?:: Wing asked. Even though his flight engines revved in approval of the idea his glyphs and modifiers showed he was only going to do this with Rung’s full agreement.

:: _Very_ sure.:: Rung used the strongest glyphs he could. ::I want to remove all memories of their touch and replace it with your essence.::

The jet moaned at the images Rung added to his words and the open encouragement in his Field. There could be no confusion about what the psychiatrist meant or what he wanted Wing to do.

::Oh Primus below, and people call _me_ kinky.:: Wing said, laughing helplessly and shaking his helm in bemusement. His modifiers were full of admiration. ::I’ve got _nothing_ on you.::

Genuine mirth filled Rung’s Field as Wing moved into position above him, straddling his orange-plated form. The jet rubbed his thumbs teasingly over what were quickly becoming some of Rung’s favourite places to be touched. He was honestly considering asking Wing to give him a proper detailing while in this form, just to get those seams touched again.

::I can help you work on that, if you like.:: Rung offered without shame. ::But if you ask my opinion I think you’re doing _just_ fine on your own.::

Wing snorted through his vents, the sound not quite covering the distinctive _click-slide_ of his pelvic armour folding aside. Excitement spread through Rung, pulsing through his lines and gathering in places he wasn’t used to. He felt the soft touch of lips on his plating, Wing leaning forward and bracing his forearms against the berth so he could reach. Moisture dropped onto the reinforced glass shielding Rung’s Spark, steaming when it hit the hot surface. Being unable to push himself closer to the source was torture and Wing wasn’t responding to the desperate pleading in his Field. Rung shivered beneath the feeling of a glossa firmly and deliberately writing the same two glyphs over and over again across his plating, sealing each one with a kiss. If he had optics right now Rung was sure those two impossible words would have brought him to tears.

::Ready?:: The jet asked, lowering his frame slightly.

All he could do was whine crackling static, fumbling for glyphs and sending a sense-impression of vigorous nodding over the hardline before managing to find a single word.

::Please. Please please PLEASE.::

::Alright::

Slowly, oh so slowly Wing lowered himself; skirting panels dragging over Rung’s plating and slipping aside as he brought his valve down over the tough glass covering the blazing Spark.

The first contact was a delicate whisper of touch, the fully engorged folds of Wing’s valve spreading a generous amount of lubrication over the hot glass. Wing gasped, rolling his hips forward and back in a figure-eight motion to spread more lubricant over the transparent housing of the brightest Spark. He slid like wet silk over the protective cover and Rung moaned, wishing he could reach up and just _pull_ the jet down onto him to end this torturous teasing.

Slowly the pressure increased, Wing trading his figure-eight movements for tight little circles and occasional back-and-forth rocking, using his fingers to keep tracing those same two glyphs on Rung’s plating. His mouth was otherwise occupied, by turns moaning, cursing and pressing sloppy kisses to orange plating as the beat of Rung’s Spark pulsed against his valve. With only the Spark chamber itself and the glass to separate them the pulsing energy of Rung’s Spark was all but unrestrained and Rung revelled in the reactions it caused.

While it was better it still wasn’t enough, not quite what Rung needed.

He wanted Wing to let go, wanted to feel the jet’s lubricant flooding over the glass covering his Spark chamber and soaking into the seams around it. He needed to feel Wing’s Field unravel as he overloaded on top of him.

Sending those images got a wordless gasp and a harder grind of Wing’s hips, accentuated by the rumble of his turbines. Now Rung could feel the hard lump of Wing’s sensory nub pressing against him, a teasing little piece of firm pressure in the sea of deliciously soft valve pressing against him.

It was delicious, but still _not quite enough_.

Wordless encouragement over the hardline and gentle nudges of his EM Field _finally_ convinced the jet to settle himself firmly onto Rung, bringing the bright core of the small mech as close as was physically possible to the centre of Wing’s pleasure.

The roar of jet turbines drowned the hum of their vents and shook the berth beneath them. Powerful vibrations rolled through their frames and Rung felt a flood of lubricant release from Wing’s valve to stream in rivulets down his hot plating.

Dark fingers scraped along Rung’s sides as if searching for something to hold onto, finding purchase on the large grey cogs two-thirds of the way down his frame and gripping them hard enough to leave dents. Wing was grinding himself down onto Rung now with sharp, desperate motions. High, desperate cries pierced the roar of his engines in time with the motion of his hips, his nub mashed firmly against the glass over Rung’s Spark, teasingly close to the charge-swollen corona.

It was _exactly_ what Rung needed; to feel Wing chasing overload on him, over him, _with_ _him_.

::WING! YES!::

Tension coiled deep within his frame then exploded in a torrent of intense pleasure that poured out through him and into Wing. It felt like his Spark was expanding beyond its chamber, filling his frame and bursting outwards to fill the entire ship with purest ecstasy.

Distantly he was aware of Wing joining him in overload, joints locking as he screamed Rung’s name until his vocaliser made the popping sound of a full vocal unit short. Bliss echoed back and forth along the hardline and between their Fields, prolonging their overloads and easing the comedown into something of slow, gentle steps back down instead of the hard thump typical of such an intense release.

At some point Wing regained control over his frame, flopping sideways and wrapping his arms around Rung’s altmode and pulling him close. Some semi-coherent glyphs got the jet to disconnect their cables, stowing Rung’s away neatly and kissing the orange armour when it closed over his hardline array before fumbling with his own.

After a moment of trying to find the right action commands Rung managed to transform, wrapping his arms around Wing and snuggling into the jet’s embrace with a barely-audible purr from his small engine.

He was almost in recharge when Wing mumbled something into the top of his helm.

“I couldn’t understand that.” Rung said, deliberately tapped Wing on the nose with his antennae and smiling into his chest armour.

“Should clean up.”  Wing’s voice was mostly static, a result of his final screaming overload.

Rung thought about it. Being clean would be nice. But getting clean would mean getting up and moving around. He was relaxed and much too comfortable where he was to like the idea.

“Recharge first. Clean up later.” He decided, pressing his forehelm to Wing’s chestplates.

Wing didn’t argue, just pulled him closer as their systems wound down for recharge.

**Author's Note:**

> Wing was playing Enya's 'Amarantine' album. I figured that's the way he rolls, the romantic twit.


End file.
